The Unwanted Wife: No Longer His Shield
Aryanna sat in the freezing rain, watching her billionaire husband of two years gently tuck a stray hair behind his mistress's ear.
But the ultimate betrayal didn't come from her marriage. A DNA test suddenly revealed she wasn't the real Garza heiress, but a worthless orphan swapped at birth by a vengeful nurse.
Her adoptive parents immediately froze her trust funds and disowned her, ordering her to play the perfect wife just to secure a corporate merger. Stripped of her family and wealth, Aryanna thought her husband might finally show some pity. Instead, she overheard him talking to his friends in a private VIP room.
"She is the perfect shield. As long as the media and my family are focused on tearing Aryanna apart, Kaylen stays safe."
The truth shattered her completely. She wasn't a wife. She was just a meat shield meant to draw the fire away from his true love. When Aryanna later confronted the mistress, the woman faked a pathetic panic attack. Without a second thought, her husband shoved Aryanna's best friend into a wall and looked at Aryanna with absolute disgust, calling her a vicious monster.
Why was she suffering all the abuse while a professional con artist got all his protection and love?
The broken, desperate wife died in that hallway. Aryanna swung her arm and slapped his face with every ounce of strength she had left.
"The subpoena for the divorce will be on your desk tomorrow morning."
She turned her back on the billionaire and walked away. This time, she was done playing the victim.
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Chapter 5
Aryanna's needle-thin stiletto Jimmy Choo heels clicked aggressively against the polished marble floor of the Montgomery Group lobby.
The front desk receptionist spotted her immediately. The woman plastered on a bright, professional smile and gestured toward the private executive elevator that led straight to the CEO's floor.
Aryanna didn't even look at it. She waved the woman off and marched directly toward the standard employee elevators, pressing the button for the 20th floor. Human Resources.
The elevator doors slid open.
The bustling HR department instantly went dead silent. Dozens of employees stared in absolute shock at the CEO's wife-a woman they usually only saw in the glossy pages of party magazines-standing in their cubicle maze.
Aryanna walked straight to the HR Director's glass office. She slammed a single sheet of paper onto his desk.
The Director jumped out of his chair, his eyes bugging out as he read the document. It was a formal letter of resignation for her title as "Executive Assistant to the CEO."
"Process this immediately," Aryanna ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And deactivate my building access card."
While the Director fumbled nervously with his keyboard, Aryanna pulled out her phone. She opened her contacts and mass-blocked every single socialite group chat associated with the Montgomery and Garza families.
Watching those fake, sycophantic names disappear from her screen sent a rush of pure oxygen into her lungs. She felt lighter than she had in years.
Once the paperwork was stamped, she grabbed a small cardboard box containing a few personal items and walked out of the office.
As she turned the corner, she nearly collided with Shelly Price, an HR coordinator.
Shelly's face was chalk-white. She swayed on her feet, her eyes rolling back.
Aryanna dropped her box and grabbed Shelly by the shoulders, keeping her from hitting the floor. She guided the trembling woman to a lobby sofa. Aryanna dug into her bag, pulled out a Swiss mint, and forced it into Shelly's hand.
"Eat it. Your blood sugar crashed," Aryanna said softly.
Shelly chewed the mint, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. She looked up at Aryanna with immense gratitude. She leaned in close, lowering her voice to a whisper.
"Mrs. Montgomery... you should know. The top floor just sent down an expedited employment contract. They're hiring a woman named Kaylen Steele."
Aryanna's fingers tightened violently around the edge of her cardboard box. The cardboard crumpled under her grip.
Her eyes turned to absolute ice.
She had planned to leave the building quietly. But this? Bringing his mistress into the company?
Aryanna turned around and walked straight to the executive coffee bar on the first floor. Using her face as the ultimate VIP pass, she stepped behind the counter, ignoring the confused barista.
She grabbed a black ceramic mug. She brewed a double shot of black espresso. No sugar. No milk. Exactly how Branden drank it.
Before she snapped the lid on, she reached into her bag. She pulled out a small packet of heavy-duty laxative powder she kept for travel emergencies.
Without a second of hesitation, she dumped the entire packet into the steaming black coffee. She stirred it vigorously until the powder dissolved, a wicked, cold smile playing on her lips.
She carried the spiked coffee to the private elevator and rode it to the top floor.
When the doors opened, Reid saw her holding the mug. He let out a visible sigh of relief, clearly thinking she was bringing a peace offering.
"He's in a good mood, ma'am," Reid whispered, gesturing to the office.
Aryanna ignored him. She pushed open the heavy walnut doors with one hand.
Branden was sitting behind his massive desk. When he saw her walk in with the coffee, a triumphant, arrogant smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
He leaned back in his leather chair, completely relaxed. He had won.
Aryanna walked right up to the desk. She slammed the hot coffee down directly on top of his financial reports.
Branden raised an eyebrow. He reached out and wrapped his large hand around the mug, his eyes locking onto hers with predatory dominance.
"As long as you behave yourself from now on," Branden said, his voice dripping with condescension, "I'm willing to pretend last night never happened."
Aryanna stared at his lips as he brought the rim of the cup closer to his mouth. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Drink it. Drink it.
Just as the hot liquid was about to touch his bottom lip, Branden froze.
His eyes darted down. Years of navigating high-stakes environments had honed his senses to a razor's edge. He caught something. Clinging to the very edge of the black ceramic rim was a microscopic trace of white powder.
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9.3
They say you can't have it all. I'm about to prove them wrong-or destroy myself trying.
When my struggling mother married billionaire Richard Stone, I thought I was gaining a family. Instead, I found three stepbrothers who became my obsession, my downfall, and my salvation.
Dominic, the eldest, cold and commanding, who kisses me like he's claiming his kingdom and looks at me like I'm the only thing he can't control.
Julian, the charming playboy who hides a vulnerable soul beneath his perfect smile, making me feel like I'm the only woman he's ever truly seen.
Asher, the brooding artist who paints me like I'm his muse and touches me like I'm his masterpiece, seeing parts of my soul I didn't know existed.
They're forbidden. They're dangerous. They're everything I shouldn't want.
But when I discover my father didn't die by suicide that he was murdered by the very man who now calls himself my stepfather, these three powerful men becomes my unlikely allies.
First it was a forbidden attraction, now it's an arrangement that defies every rule.
The rules are simple:
I'll give each of them a chance.
I'll take everything they offer.
And in the end, I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life:
Choose one of them. Choose all of them. Or choose myself.
8.4
For twenty years, I lived as the adopted daughter of the wealthy Hill family.
But today, they forced me to sign a severance agreement and kicked me out so their precious biological daughter, Malia, could marry my fiancé.
To ruin me completely, they framed me for stealing Malia's engagement bracelet, threatening me with prison.
I calmly exposed the "sapphire" as cheap glass, then rolled up my sleeves to show the reporters my scarred, punctured arms.
For two decades, I wasn't a daughter. I was Malia's living blood and bone marrow bank.
They drained my health to keep her alive, even ordering doctors to ignore my failing organs just so she could attend a gala.
"Take this million dollars and shut your mouth," my adoptive father sneered, throwing a check at my feet.
My ex-fiancé looked at me with disgust, and Malia screamed that I was a crazy, vindictive liar.
They had stolen my life and my health, yet they still looked down on me like I was garbage.
I ripped the check into pieces and threw it in their faces.
Just as they ordered the butler to drag me out, a group of men in black suits shattered the chaos.
The heir of the untouchable Montgomery dynasty stepped through the door, ignoring the Hills' fawning, and handed me a DNA report.
I wasn't a disposable blood bag. I was the long-lost true heiress of old New York money.
And now, I was going to take back everything they stole from me.
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
8.3
He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low."I need the money," I whispered, feeling so tiny in his arms."You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this."I moaned, looking away, couldn't help it,"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he pushed his tip in slowly."Fuck," he groaned. "So tight."He fucked me like he was claiming something. "Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster."Damien," I cried out his name as I came."That's it," he growled. After a long minute he pulled out slowly. "One night," he said again, almost like a reminder....weeks later, I walked through the quiet hall of my school. A massive portrait stared back at me.Damien BlackwoodPrincipal Benefactor and OwnerColumbia University.Same man who'd just taken my virginity for money. My stomach dropped. "Oh fuck... what have I done?"
9.5
I woke up gasping from a nightmare of flames devouring Chandler Finch's estate, my body wrapped in burning curtains as I died alone.
But my eyes opened to silk sheets in his penthouse master bedroom. He was alive beside me, his cedarwood scent real. This was my second chance—I'd been reborn.
His phone buzzed: Eugenia Stewart's "emergency." Her security detail reported her refusing meals, unstable. Chandler bolted without a glance, rushing to her side.
I signed the brutal cohabitation contract binding me to him, but Temperance had planted birth control pills in the trash—a trap to frame me. Chandler found them, exploded in jealous rage, crushing the pills to dust. "No child unless it's mine," he growled, possessive fire in his eyes.
Brett, Eugenia's lapdog, stormed in later, accusing me of manipulation. I fired back: Chandler demanded my womb for his heir. Brett paled, fled to tattle.
Then the storm hit—power outage, locked on the terrace in pouring rain, freezing as Eugenia faked an asthma attack on Chandler's line, stealing his focus again. I hung up, huddled with a stray puppy, nearly dying from hypothermia.
He'd never believed me before—Eugenia's lies always won, dooming me to isolation and fire. Why did her every whimper trump my screams? How could he be so blind?
This time, reborn weeks before the inferno, I wouldn't beg. I'd play his game, shatter Eugenia's web, and make Chandler mine—before the flames returned.
7.4
I was freezing to death in an abandoned cabin, desperately waiting for my fiancé to save me.
Instead, my phone flickered with a video from my adopted sister.
She was smiling as she confessed that she and my fiancé had orchestrated my kidnapping, and my parents' fatal plane crash, just to steal my family's trust fund.
When I called him with my dying breath, he mocked me for faking a PR stunt and hung up.
I died in the sub-zero blizzard, consumed by absolute despair.
But as a ghost, I watched my greatest business rival, the ruthless billionaire Collins, kick down the doors of my mansion.
He didn't just mourn me.
He shot my fiancé, trapped my sister, and set the entire place on fire, choosing to burn alive in the inferno just to avenge me.
I couldn't understand why the man I had publicly despised for a decade loved me so fiercely, while the people I gave everything to wanted me dead.
Opening my eyes again, I was back backstage on the night I won my Oscar, four years ago.
My fiancé smiled, holding out his arms to hug me.
I pushed him away in disgust, marched straight into the crowded theater, and kissed my billionaire rival on live television.
"Let's get married tomorrow."
This time, I would use him to burn them all to the ground.